


a close call

by thenerdlordparade



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader, king/knight protector au, listen there were a bunch of sentence prompts and i crammed like five in here, mad king/minecraft-ey au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 14:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20292652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdlordparade/pseuds/thenerdlordparade
Summary: you, the knight protector to the king, are injured protecting him.it's all in a day's work for you; the king, however, is less than enthused.





	a close call

**Author's Note:**

> if you want max tenderness from this, listen to 'unlabeled' from homestuck while reading.
> 
> trust me, it works.

The king is pacing in front of you, cape sweeping out with each turn, as the court doctor patches you up. Something has him in a snit; you're not sure what, but this isn't an uncommon occurrence either. This time though, this time it looks like he wants to say something- he has words building up at the back of his throat, in his chest, but he doesn't say them, just gives you long looks with each turn.

This lasts until the final bandages are in place and the doctor takes their leave. "Don't _ever,"_ he says, the door barely closed behind the doctor, "**_ever_** fucking do that again." Anger has the king's voice low and intense. He stops his pacing directly in front of your chair, fixing you with burning eyes.

"All due respect, your majesty, but it's my job." You blink mildly up at him. Blood loss has you a little lightheaded, maybe a little impulsive, but the potions the doctor gave you have healed you enough, have dulled your pain enough for this conversation. "I'm supposed to keep you safe."

"You were nearly _killed!"_

"And you're unharmed, so that means I did it right."

"_No,_ you-" He cuts off, breathing heavily, and whirls away. He paces another angry circle before stopping in front of you, brows drawn down. "You don't _get_ it, do you? How can you be so _blind?"_ By the last few words, he's practically shouting, doesn't let you get a word in. _"Don't you understand how much I **care** about you?"_

You blink again, taken aback. "M... _me?"_ you squeak.

"Yes!" he snaps, exasperated. "Do you have _any_ idea what I would have done if you had died today?"

"Um." You shrink in on yourself a little. "Buried me and gotten a new knight protector?" you say tentatively.

He groans, turns away, scrubs both hands down his face. When he turns back, it is to kneel before your chair on one knee. Protests that _he's the king, he shouldn't be kneeling to a lowly knight like you_ die in your throat at the look on his face.

The quiet intensity that you had thought was anger is actually shot through with fear, and worry, and something soft you're afraid to put a name to; you're shocked to see tears lurking in his eyes. The extra shock of hearing your name - your _first_ name, not your surname - in his deep voice has you swallowing thickly. It's only compounded further when he takes your free hand - the one not in a sling - gently in his. "You... you have become _everything,_ to me."

You shudder. "How? _Why?"_ It comes out as a whisper- the lump in your throat chokes out anything louder.

"I don't know." His gaze is fixed on where his hand twines with yours, on the soft motion of his thumb sweeping across your knuckles. "Not exactly, anyway. There was never a singular moment where I could say for certain that _that_ was when I had fallen in love-" _love,_ the word makes your breath catch in your chest, makes your eyes squeeze shut, makes your fingers tighten around his, but he continues, "-but now, _today,_ I can say with full honesty that I do love you."

You break then; your face crumples as you yank your hand out from his to wipe desperately at your eyes. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming," you say, voice watery. "_Please,_ there have- there's been too many times I've dreamed- only to wake up and- and not-" Tears spill over your hand and down your cheeks; you cover your eyes, unwilling to look and acknowledge that he has seen your weakness.

Gently, carefully, your hand is pried away from your face. You blink away tears to see that he has leaned up so his head is nearly level with yours, hand in his again on your lap. He meets your eyes - blue fixed on yours - and, not looking away, rests his other hand on top of your bandaged shoulder, then _pushes._

You hiss, and the light pressure on your half-healed wound disappears. "Still with me?"

"I-" You blink, swallow, and nod.

"Then you're not dreaming." He wipes your tears, the touch light on your cheeks. "You've loved me for a long time, haven't you?"

You nod, unable to get anything out.

"I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner." He cups your cheek, and you lean into it, savoring the feeling. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't say anything," you say. "I _couldn't._ You... you're the _king,_ and I'm just-"

"A knight."

"Yes. I'm no noble." You huff, closing your eyes. "Hell, I'm barely middle-class; I'm only here because of my job- my _duty._ I was tasked to protect you at all costs. If anyone knew how I felt- if _you_ knew how I felt, I... I worried I would be turned out, left to scrounge for scraps. Or executed."

His brows furrow. "Executions are reserved for only those who have committed murder or treason."

"Well I know that _now."_ You laugh, though there's no humour to it. "When I first came to the castle to work, all I knew were the _legends_ of the Mad King- executions on a whim, dank dungeons, the whole nine yards. By the time I came to know the person behind the legend, I was already in the habit of hiding. Besides, I..." You dip your head. "I knew better than to think I even had a ghost of a chance at catching your attention in a, um, _romantic_ way. 's not like I'm exactly a looker."

You glance at his face and have to look away again just as quickly- his expression is only just shy of heartbroken. The hand on your cheek shifts, and you're helpless not to look at him again when he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? To me? Do you think so lowly of yourself that you think it impossible for anyone to fall in love with you?"

It's all you can do to shrug limply, wincing when it pulls at the bandages; you look down, avoiding his eyes.

His finger under your chin tilts your head back up- firm, but gentle. He looks at you for a moment, silent, deliberating. Eventually, he says, "Let me kiss you. Please."

"A kiss doesn't fix all ills."

He smiles. "No," he says lightly, "but it's a start. May I?"

A tremor runs through your body - anticipation, fear, something else? - but you give the barest nod, not trusting yourself to do anything more.

There's only so far he can lean forward while kneeling on the floor; his hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb resting behind your ear, and guides you forward just enough to meet him. The kiss itself is soft, a barely-there pressure. Chaste. There is a sense of restrained fervor coming from him, but he doesn't push; he just holds you, with a promise of more if you desires, but _only_ if you want to.

The kiss doesn't last long, yet it feels like it lasts forever.

When he leans back, he skims his fingers along your cheek before he rests his hand on your knee. You exhale, a tension you didn't even realize that you had before then loosening, your shoulders dropping. It's enough that you almost miss how you can barely open your eyes from a wave of exhaustion sweeping through you.

"And that will be the healing potions hitting." There's a smile audible in the king's voice. "Come, let's get you to your bed. You need rest so you can heal properly."

You don't protest when he helps you up- but you yelp when he puts one arm around your shoulders, the other behind your knees, and lifts you into his arms in one smooth motion.

(It's less of a yelp and more of a whine with how you're barely holding to consciousness.)

You don't even get a word out about the impropriety; he's already shushing you. "You're dead on your feet, my love." His love. That has a nice ring to it. You're so focused on that that you nearly miss his addendum of, "Besides, I'm the Mad King, I can do whatever the fuck I want, up to and including carrying my favourite knight to their bed to rest and heal."

You laugh, and between one breath and the next you're asleep, head tucked safely into his shoulder.


End file.
